


Wandering Joe

by deskclutter



Category: The Sandman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-22
Updated: 2010-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:35:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter





	Wandering Joe

_   
**[October 3rd] Not all who wander are lost**   
_

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
A light from the shadows shall spring;  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
The crownless again shall be king.  
-J. R. R. Tolkien                                                                            _

  
**Wandering Joe**  
I tear into the rat with relish. It's been a while since I've had a meal, so even this little bit helps. Kind of lean, but whatever, it's food.

It's that homeless guy who's been wandering around for the past while He's scaring all the food away. But not me. Because I'm not scared of him.

But it's getting worse with all the food packing up and making a run for it. Maybe I need to start thinking about moving to a place with better pickings. That's why I'd leave, _if _I do, because I need more food, not because I'm scared of that weird aura and the slightly terrifying laugh. I'm a growing pup, I need food to grow.

"Hello." Oh shit, it's him--I mean, speak of the devil.

I try to say that last bit aloud (I don't know why because it doesn't even make sense) but it comes out as, "I'm not afraid of you." Way to go, pup.

He laughs like that guy with the red cheeks and pants and cotton wool beard (I know it's cotton wool, I ran off with it once), all 'Ho Ho Ho', only odder. "Yes," he says. "I can see that." He eyes the puddle at my feet. Damn it.

"Marking my territory," I tell him. "And you're stepping in it. So get going. Scat."

He looks at his dry feet with a raised eyebrow, and trust me, that's a long way to look down. "In my territory," I explain slowly and patiently.

"I beg your pardon," he says, taking one step back, and yeah, it's a big step, but still. He's grinning.

"Son of a jenny," I mutter. What? My mother was a farmdog. Don't ask me how I turned up in the city.

He laughs again. Ha Ha Ha. "Did you just call me a jackass?"

"No," I quibble. "I called you the son of a jenny."

He's roaring with laughter. "Better than being the son of a bitch."

Hey now, there's nothing wrong with being the son of a bitch. Sons of bitches are a man's best friend. That's what I want to say, but it comes out as "Not from my point of view." Zing. I am oh-so witty. "Nice threads, homeless man," I say to cover it up.

"I have a home," he says. "No need to imply I stole anything. I'm provided for."

I guess I can believe that.

"What can I call you?" he asks.

"No one's given me a name," I tell him.

"That won't do," he says, frowning. "Everything should have a name. That's how you remember things."

"'S that why heroes and things always name their weapons?" I ask. Yeah, yeah, I'm smarter than I look, all right?

He gives me a sharp look. "I suppose I don't need to give you my name."

"Nope, none of us animals knew that one of you things was walking among us here carrying an aura of imminent doom. That's why so many of us are here."

He looks back at the rat. The tasty rat. "That doesn't look very filling."

"Nah, I'm good," I say. "I'm small, it filled me right up." My stomach betrays me at that moment, and I hide a guilty look. When did I start feeling guilty--better yet, when did my legs stop shaking--did I say that out loud?

No? Good.

"Then you won't want this," he says, crouching down to dangle a piece of jerky in front of my nose.

Hoo boy. "Gimme!" I yip, leaping up for it. He's still too tall.

"Come with me," he says. "And it's yours."

I don't think my ears are working right. Funny, they were doing fine just now. "What?"

"I took away your sustenance," he says. "It's the least I could do. Anyway, I've been looking for a companion for a while. You'll do in a pinch, seeing as you're not afraid of me," he grins.

"Are you allowed to take me in?" I ask suspiciously. "And what's in it for me?"

"I'm not beholden to my duties anymore," he says. "And what do you think this is?" He dangles the jerky.

"You think you know a dog so well," I say. Hmm, better pickings versus a diet of lean rats. I wonder. "I'm in."

"Really?" he says, looking a little surprised. Scared off too many animals, maybe? Except vultures and those sorts. Scavengers.

"It's a dog's life out here," I say. "Pun intended."

He laughs anyway. "When we're in good compay, just call me Joe," he says as I trot at his heels.

"Sure."

"Family doesn't count as good company."

"Does this have anything to do with being not beholden to your duties?" I ask.

"No, it has to do with them being just family," he says, laughing. "I think I'll call you Barnabas."  


* * *

  
I don't know either. Crit me on whatever. Barnabas was a woobie puppy. Destruction is is a sap. Discuss.  



End file.
